


¿Quién es?

by quetzalaten



Category: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quetzalaten/pseuds/quetzalaten
Summary: A “friend” from Billy’s past comes back to haunt him.
Relationships: Niccolò Machiavelli/Henry "Billy the Kid" McCarty (Nicholas Flamel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	¿Quién es?

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea sitting around unfinished for almost a decade now, lol, so I thought that it was finally time to complete it. It is a fic that I just really wanted to write for myself (because it is all I could think about after finishing the series). Hopefully it isn't too self-indulgent!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

_Free._ The word kept echoing in Billy the Kid’s head as he surveyed the room he was standing in.

He couldn’t remember the last time that he could really apply that word to himself. When he was mortal, it always seemed like he was either in jail or breaking out of it. And as an immortal, he had been in the servitude of an eternally cranky snake god for the past hundred or so years. That hardly counted as freedom.

But, after the battle on Alcatraz, he had escaped from his master’s wrath and was bouncing from place to place in order to evade anything that the Elder could send after him. He was a warlock, an oath-breaker, recovering from his injuries with the help of his partner, Niccolò Machiavelli.

 _A warlock_ , he thought to himself, _Damn that sounds cool._ He hummed an old song to himself, leaning against the wall. Although the most grievous of his wounds had been healed thanks to Machiavelli, the outlaw still needed to use crutches to walk, and it was difficult to stand for long periods of time. He breathed out slowly, using a small amount of his aura to ease his aching legs. From the other side of the room, Machiavelli noticed the red glow and walked over to Billy. “Do you need anything?” he asked his partner, placing his hands on the younger immortal’s shoulders. Billy shook his head, “I’m good, Niccolò. At least we have a roof over our heads.” The Italian grimaced.

Because they had to keep moving, the two immortals hadn’t stayed in one place for more than a few weeks at a time. Currently, they were in a decrepit apartment in Arizona, which Billy had rented under a pseudonym.

“It is... acceptable,” Machiavelli said finally. Billy laughed, “Damn, you spoiled yourself, didn’t ya’? I’ve had to live in way worse than this.” He slapped the wall, causing dust to come down from the ceiling and settle on Niccolò’s custom suit. “At least there are no cockroaches!” the outlaw said cheerfully, heading into the living room to unpack. He heard his partner grumbling, brushing the dirt from his clothing. “Do you know how much this suit cost?”

“I... don’t really care?” Billy replied. Expensive clothes were never really a priority of his. If the jeans fit properly, and the shirt didn’t have too many holes in it, why would he spend precious money on things that were going to get worn out anyway? In his day, food was much more important than frivolous fashion statements. But Machiavelli was used to comfort, not practicality.

Sighing, Billy took a photograph out of his suitcase. He looked at it, and saw his own face smiling back at him. Beside him in the image stood a tall man with dark copper skin. He had his arms wrapped around Billy, his brown eyes glowing with joy. _Black Hawk, you_ _incredible,_ _amazing_ _asshole,_ _where the hell are you_ _?_ The Othâkîwa immortal had left on some sort of ‘important business’ a week ago, and Billy already missed his friend. He always felt more relaxed when Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak was around. The outlaw placed the photograph back in his bag. He would have to phone the other man later to see how he was doing.

“William?” Machiavelli called from the other room, “I need to go pick up food for dinner. Are you okay if I leave for a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” Billy said, distracted. Niccolò stuck his head through the doorway, “Billy? Is everything alright?” Looking up, the outlaw nodded, “Everything is fine. Just be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” Machiavelli said, smiling. He kissed his partner goodbye and left, closing the door behind him.

***

_Knock, knock, knock._

Billy jumped at the sound. There was no way that Machiavelli was back yet. And the Italian had a key, he wouldn’t have to knock.

“Henry?” a man’s voice came from the other side of the door. Billy froze. Not many people still called him by that name. Quietly, he moved towards the wall, away from the entrance to the apartment. The knocking started again. Billy’s heart was racing. “Henry, open the door, I know you are in there.”

_No._

_That can’t be right._

_I know that voice._

Billy’s thoughts were moving faster than he could control. Old memories were rising to the surface. Memories of a man, of a night in New Mexico, of two bullets being fired.

_No, no no no._

Before he could finish processing what he had just realized, the window of the apartment blew open, sending small shards of glass flying in every direction. Billy used his aura to protect himself, a thin layer of red light shielding him from the shattered window. He cautiously looked up at the man who had entered the room. He was tall and well-built, and was wearing a dusty, old-fashioned suit. Clean-shaven, apart from his moustache, the intruder was a rather good-looking gentleman. His hand was resting on his belt, from which a holster was attached.

“Pat Garrett,” Billy whispered.

Mornin’ McCarty!” the man drawled, his accent thick, “Been a while, hasn’t it? You ain’t lookin’ good.”

“How... how can you be alive?” Billy backed away from the larger man. “Well, apparently Quetzalcoatl wanted to have a... a back-up plan. In case you decided to try anything. Which, of course, you did. You never could listen to reason, could you?” Garrett’s hand was slowly moving towards the gun at his hip.

Billy’s hand instinctively moved to the spot on his torso where the sheriff’s bullets hit him many years ago. “No,” the outlaw said, “this has to be a trick of some kind. You’re dead!” Garrett chuckled, “Yeah, dead as a doornail. Just like you, right Henry?”

“You know I don’t go by that name, Pat,” Billy snapped.

“Oh?” the sheriff said, “Which name are you goin’ by these days? McCarty, Bonney, Antrim? I noticed that the apartment is under the name ‘Devine.’ Feelin’ homesick, Henry?”

“Shut up!” Billy shouted, “Get out of my place, Pat, or you’ll be leavin’ in a coffin.” Garrett laughed, “Well, I see you still have your nasty temper.” Billy glared at him. The other immortal continued, “To be honest, when I first found out that you were made immortal before me, I got a bit pissed off. Killing you was my greatest achievement, it is what I am known for, Henry. My legacy. To think that I had failed at that! That you were runnin’ around like nothing had happened?”

The outlaw shifted in place. “Pat, I...”

The sheriff chuckled, “Don’t get me wrong, old friend! I was actually quite excited when our master summoned me to come find you. He gave me the chance to correct my little slip-up!”

Garrett pulled his gun. Billy reached to his hip out of habit, forgetting that there was no holster there, “Wait-”

 _BANG._ A burst of pain. The outlaw’s vision went blurry. He couldn’t hear anything except for the thumping of his heart. Collapsing against the wall, Billy tried to breath. Why couldn’t he breath? Billy felt panic rising in him. He looked down, and saw a dark red stain blossoming across his shirt. _Shit._

Garrett laughed. “Third bullet’s the charm, right McCarty?” he drawled, taking a step towards the younger man. Billy tried to speak, but the room was spinning. He felt a hand around his throat. Forcing himself to focus, he stared into Garrett’s gaze. The sheriff tightened his grasp, making Billy choke for air. “I’m not gonna make the same mistake I did last time,” Garrett whispered, “Today, I’m gonna watch the life drain from your body before turning my back on you, you son of a bitch.”

Anger flared in Billy’s eyes. He punched the sheriff in the jaw, causing him to release his grip. Billy dropped to the floor, gasping, trying to catch his breath. “You little asshole,” Garrett growled, kicking the outlaw in the stomach repeatedly. Billy coughed up blood. _That’s not good_. Struggling to his feet, he turned to face his attacker. “Come on, Pat,is that the best you can do?” Billy said. Lifting his right arm, Billy gathered his aura around his crutch, surrounding it with a deep red glow. He swung hard, andhit the sheriff across the face with it.

“How’d you like that?” Billy crowed, standing above Garrett, who was now nursing a broken nose. The outlaw continued to smack the other immortal, until the sheriff grabbed his arm and forced him to the ground.

 _Damn it._ Billy realized that his old friend had the physical advantage over him. Garrett grasped at Billy’s wrist and twisted, causing the outlaw to gasp in pain. “Pat, please, maybe we can talk about this?” Billy said hastily. The sheriff glared at him, “It’s a little too late for that, old friend.” Garrett sharply hit the outlaw’s arm. Billy screamed as he heard it snap.

Garrett pressed the outlaw against the wall. “Oh, that reminds me!” he growled in Billy’s ear, “I’ve heard that you are with someone now. Aten’s lackey, right? Wonder how long it would’ve taken for him to leave you, or betray you to your master? Everyone abandons you eventually, Henry.” Billy’s aura crackled, causing the sheriff to back away from him. “Shut up, Pat,” Billy hissed. He stood tall, supported by his crutches, a fiery blaze in his eyes. “You are the one who left me for _dead_. We were friends, you fucking _pendejo_.iAnd you shot me in the dark.”

Garrett shrugged, “You’re still mad about that? It was my job, Henry. Unfortunately for you, it still is.” He stepped towards Billy again, and grabbed the collar of his shirt. Billy heard the sheriff’s gun click beside his head.

Suddenly, the door to the apartment flew open. Billy noticed a familiar scent in the air. _Snake,_ he thought, smiling.

The two Americans turned to look at the entrance. Standing in the doorway, wrapped in the white wisps of his aura, was Machiavelli.

“Get away from him,” Niccolò snarled, taking a step towards Garrett. The sheriff faltered for a moment, loosening his grip on Billy’s shirt, but quickly regained his composure.

“I’ve been waiting a long, long time to finish off this little bastard...” Garrett began.

“I said GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM!” Machiavelli’s aura flared, sending Garrett flying against the wall. Billy’s heart fluttered as he watched his partner prepare to face the sheriff. “Niccolò, don’t...” he began. _Don’t fight,_ _I’m not worth it_ _, save yourself._

The Italian and Garrett circled each other like sharks, neither immortal wanting to make the first attack. Eventually, Machiavelli moved to strike, his aura shooting towards the sheriff, hitting him in the side. Garrett swore, and launched a barrage of bullets at the other immortal. One got past Machiavelli’s defence, grazing his cheek. Billy felt his heart skip a beat. But the Italian didn’t seem badly hurt by the wound. He kept up his attack, pushing Garrett back. _He’s gonna win!_ thought Billy triumphantly.

As soon as that thought crossed the outlaw’s mind, Garrett’s aura knocked Niccolò across the room. The Italian hit the wall, and slumped to the ground.

 _No, he can’t be outmatched, he’s Machiavelli._ “Get up, Niccolò!” Billy shouted. The Italian groaned, but Garrett held him down with his aura. “Time to face it, McCarty, having you around is bad luck,” the sheriff drawled, looking over at Billy. “It’s probably better that this is gonna end here, before you cause any more damage. Say goodbye to your paramour, Henry!”

Enraged, Billy gathered his aura into the palm of his left hand. “You...” he glowered, “will _not_ kill him!” He lifted his hand, directing his magic towards Garrett.

“And, by the way, he’s not my ‘paramour,’ you dick.” the outlaw snarled, “He’s my boyfriend.”

With that, Billy released a single blast of energy that hit Garrett right in the centre of his body. The scent of cayenne was overwhelming, causing his eyes to burn. Exhausted from the effort, Billy collapsed to the ground, his vision going dark.

***

When he woke up, the first thing Billy saw were striking grey eyes. Machiavelli was looking at him, his concern apparent in his expression.

“William, can you hear me?” the Italian asked, placing a hand on the side of his partner’s face. The outlaw nodded, still slightly dazed. Machiavelli wiped the blood from Billy’s lips with the corner of his sleeve. “I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Billy stammered, “When I saw him, I j-just froze. I-” Niccolò shushed him softly. “You are safe now,” he murmured.

“What happened to Garrett?” the outlaw asked. Niccolò shook his head, “I... I don’t know. He ran after you hit him, and I had to make sure you were... that you weren’t...”

Billy noticed that Niccolò’s eyes were red, as though he had been crying. “I thought you were dead,” the Italian said quietly, stroking the outlaw’s hair. “I saw your aura light up, and... oh god, Billy...” Machiavelli buried his face in his hands. Billy pulled him close, hugging him tightly with his unbroken arm. “It’s okay,” the outlaw said, “Niccolò, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

Machiavelli looked at Billy fondly, the hint of a smile on his face. “You know, that was quite a display of magic you put on back there,” he said, “Very impressive.” Billy snorted, “Damned right it was. Bet ya’ he won’t be back anytime soon.” The Italian rolled his eyes, “Honestly, William, you could use a little bit of humility. That man was after you, and he succeeded in tracking us down. You and I narrowly avoided being killed. There is no reason to celebrate that.”

Billy’s expression darkened. “You’re right, it was my fault that this happened.” He pushed himself up from the floor, wincing at the pain in his body. He felt like he was going to throw up. “If you stay with me, you are just going to get hurt, Niccolò,” Billy said, turning away from the other immortal. “And I don’t think I could live with myself if I was the cause of your death.”

Machiavelli looked shocked, “William, do not talk like that.” He put a hand on Billy’s shoulder, “And don’t walk away. You are in no condition to go anywhere right now.” The younger immortal felt tears welling in his eyes. _Don’t you dare show weakness to him, Bonney._

“Billy,” Niccolò said softly, “please listen to me.” Billy looked at the Italian.

“When we decided to escape together, we both knew the dangers.” Machiavelli gently kissed the outlaw’s forehead, “Whatever happens next, we will face it hand in hand.” Billy nodded, letting his partner wrap his arms around his body. “I know,” he whispered. The two immortals sat on the floor, holding each other tightly.

“You aren’t gonna leave me, are you?” Billy murmured, thinking about what Garrett had said earlier. _Everyone abandons you eventually, Henry._ Machiavelli looked worriedly at his partner, “Billy, why would you say that? I am not going to leave, you should know that by now.” Gazing at the outlaw, the Italian smiled reassuringly. He leaned closer, and pressed his lips to Billy’s mouth. Billy closed his eyes, relaxing into Niccolò’s arms. “I love you, Billy,” Machiavelli whispered, planting a row of kisses along his partner’s jawline. The outlaw shivered at the touch. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, cuddling up to Niccolò. He tried to put his fears aside, but a lingering doubt settled in the back of his mind.

“Let’s get the apartment tidied up, hmm?” Machiavelli gave Billy another kiss, then stood up. “Okay,” the younger immortal said quietly. Niccolò helped Billy to his feet, and looked him up and down. “How are you feeling?” he asked, “You lost... a lot of blood...” The Italian’s eyes stared into Billy’s. “My aura must’ve gotten me mostly fixed up by now,” the outlaw said cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood. _Why is he so worried?_ Machiavelli pursed his lips, “Yes, I know. I was just asking if you are alright.” Billy smiled, “C’mon Niccolò, when have I not bounced back after a fight?” He thought for a moment. “Wait, maybe I’m unkillable or something!” he said, winking at his partner. “Oh god, no Billy. I don’t think I could handle you if you actually believed that,” the Italian groaned. Billy laughed, causing Machiavelli to smile. _There we go,_ the outlaw thought. He hated seeing his partner looking so disheartened.

Billy kissed Niccolò’s cheek, then surveyed the damage that the fight had created. “Now that I am lookin’ around here,” Billy began, “maybe we should move on someplace else instead of cleanin’ up this apartment.” Machiavelli nodded, “You are right, this location has been compromised.” Taking Billy’s hand, he gazed at his partner, “Perhaps we should go to Europe for a while, to lay low. I know you love your home, William, but too many immortals know you here.” Billy got a lump in his throat, “Yeah, you’re right, of course.” He had known that Niccolò would eventually come to this conclusion, but had held out hope that it wouldn’t come to that. _Stop being nostalgic,_ he thought, _survival is more important right now._

The outlaw faked a smile, “Let’s get packed up, then.” At least he would be with Machiavelli. The two of them staying together was his top priority. _As long as I’m with him, anywhere we_ _live_ _will_ _be home._ Billy watched as Niccolò started putting their sparse belongings into suitcases.

Machiavelli turned around to see Billy staring at him. “What is wrong, William?”

“Nothing’s wrong! I’m just admiring you,” Billy grinned, blowing a kiss to his partner. Niccolò smiled, “You are a charming man, _amore_ _mio_ , as always.” The outlaw blushed at the compliment. He went back to packing his bags.

“I love you, Niccolò,” Billy said, glancing at Machiavelli over his shoulder.

“And I you, my dear.”

***

Endnotes:

i Mexican slang. It is an equivalent to calling someone “idiot,” “asshole,” or “coward.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for letting me indulge my thirteen-year-old self (they would have been thrilled that I actually published this, lol).


End file.
